


of june seconds

by chlorobenzene



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Birthday, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 23:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11279388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlorobenzene/pseuds/chlorobenzene
Summary: Akechi Goro doesn't believe in birthdays.





	of june seconds

**Author's Note:**

> i'm three weeks late but at least it's still june? happy birthday, akechi!!!
> 
> cw/tw for: implied suicide and mentions of parental neglect/child abuse.

His mother had a soft, lilting voice more suited for lullabies than singing happy birthdays. It's a memory more vivid than the rest—sitting in the cramped kitchen of their flat, a cake in front of him and his mother by his side as she sang, _happy birthday dear Goro_. In the dim light of the kitchen, she didn't look quite so tired.

 _Make a wish_ , she said.

And so Akechi did, closed his eyes in a prayer as solemn as a six year-old could muster and blew the single candle out.

His mother cut the cake and feed him the first slice, laughing as he tried to lick buttercream off his nose. The cake wasn't anything special, a tiny strawberry shortcake they bought together at the convenience store a block away, which sold it for half-off after six PM. It's too dry and the buttercream too sickly sweet, the strawberry jam sour and sticking to the roof of his mouth.

It's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

 

* * *

 

After, his mother asked him: _what did you wish for?_  

He looked up, the taste of strawberries still in mouth. "It won't come true, if I tell."

She smiled at him, eyes soft—it's flower petals unfurling in spring, as beautiful and fragile. She'd been smiling a lot more, lately, she'd been getting _better_. Maybe she wouldn't be so sad all the time anymore, maybe she would no longer cry late at night when she thought her son couldn't hear her.

 _I wish mom would be happy_.

 

* * *

 

He stopped believing in birthday wishes soon after.

 

* * *

 

They didn't celebrate birthdays, in the institution. There were too many children and too little fund, and there were things more important than a birthday cake—food and electricity bills, running water and diaper for the babies. His birthday was a statistic, a date written neatly in a file in a locked cabinet somewhere.

When the clock struck midnight, Akechi curled under the thin blanket and hummed happy birthday softly to himself, until the boy in the bed next to him kicked his shin and told him to _shut up, Goro, you're noisy_.

 

* * *

 

 He stopped singing happy birthday, since.

 

* * *

 

His foster parents dropped their smile as soon as they got home and told him to keep his head down and his mouth shut; don't be a nuisance, _or else_. He obeyed, because he is a very quick learner and bruises hurt, even when hidden under his shirt. His foster father spent the monthly allowance on sake, his mother on slot machines. On her lucky days she brought home fatty tuna and expensive beef; those days did not come often.

They left him at home alone at night a few days a week, with leftovers in the fridge for him to eat if his foster parents remembered his existence. They didn't, most nights, but Akechi is not a stranger to hunger.

He didn't tell them about his birthday; they didn't ask.

He passed out from exhaustion and hunger, one night, jolting awake a few hours later when he realized that he had forgotten his own birthday, and laughed and laughed and laughed until his stomach ached and tears sprung to his eyes, because the world has forgotten him and somewhere along the way, he has too.

 

* * *

 

There are no more birthdays, since.

 

* * *

 

June second blurs into the background with a surprising ease, year after year.

It's better this way, he tells himself. Celebrations are for new milestones and achievements; you don't celebrate a _mistake_.

There are others things to think about, as well. His newfound power and how to bring _that man_ to ruins, days spent on classes and nights on the metaverse, doing _that man_ 's bidding with gritted teeth. He is running on too much coffee and too little sleep, but Akechi thinks it's fine like this—anything to destroy _him_ , anything not to look at his clean hands and see blood.

 

* * *

 

Days turn into months into years into a string of nightmares he can't wake up from. Phone calls from _that man_ at two in the morning, nights spent in the metaverse only to return and remember the talk show interview he's supposed to have in two hours. Classes and cases, piling on top of each other because time is getting shorter and _that man_ is getting greedier, and _he_ doesn't know the meaning of the word 'No'.

The Phantom Thieves, too. _Kurusu Akira_.

The boy in his nightmares, the boy in the dreams he wakes up from panting and drenched in sweat for an entirely different reason. The boy who brings him to ruins, the boy who brings him back to life and tells him to _begin again_ with voice barely above a whisper.

And so he does, with a few new lines in his file now that weren’t there before. Akira doesn't seem to mind it, doesn't mind the stares and whispers they get when they walk down the streets of Tokyo together or the 2AM texts Akechi sends him because he's so, so tired of fighting alone.

There are the others, as well—Ryuji, who pats his back awkwardly and says, _we both have shit dads huh._ Yusuke, who explains to him in great lengths the history of Japanese arts and shares with him the name of the store where he can buy cup noodles and coffee for cheap. Futaba, who one day sits next to him and asks with a lopsided smile if he's ever considered manipulating his records, because she could help him with that, if he wants. Ann and Makoto and Haru, and even Morgana, who sometimes curls up on his lap and purrs in delight, although Akechi suspects it's more because he sneaks him treats under the table occasionally.

He keeps himself busy, with work and classes and the casefiles Sae brings him at times, in spite of the protocol, and before he knew it, it's June.

 

* * *

 

He's counting his expenses when the bell rings, the voice loud in his cramped flat. A glance at the clock tells him it's almost midnight, too late for anyone to come by—not that there are a lot of people coming by to visit him, to begin with. He approaches the front door with dread and a particularly heavy dictionary in one hand, heart beating faster as he gets closer and closer, until he's close enough to hear—

"—ight be asleep, we did not think this through."

"Nah, the light's still on!"

"Did anyone tell him we're coming?"

"This won't be a surprise if we told him, though!"

"This won't be a surprise if you keep being so loud, either. Keep it down!"

"How about _you_ keep it down you—"

Akechi opens the door.

 

* * *

 

In front of him are the Phantom Thieves, in the flesh, looking like Akechi just caught them red-handed.

He can't help but frown at this— _spectacle_ , his mind provides, not unkindly, but his voice is calm when he ask, "What are you doing?"

For a few long seconds no one is saying anything, although Akechi could see Haru glancing at Akira's direction surreptitiously. He's about to repeat his question when Ann blurts out, face flushed, "Happy birthday!"

That seems to do the trick, because suddenly everyone's speaking all at once. Ryuji's chastising Ann ("His birthday is still in half an hour!"), prompting Morgana and Yusuke to defend her. Makoto's sighing loudly enough for him to hear, and Haru is whispering something to Akira's ears. It's Futaba who addresses him first, hands fiddling with the zipper of her jacket as she speaks. 

"It's, uh—I might have found out your birthday when I...looked at your files the other day, and we planned on giving you a surprise birthday party although," she gestures at the rest of the Phantom Thieves, "That wasn't particularly well-planned, apparently."

Akechi blinks, trying to process what Futaba is saying and realizing, with something akin to dread, what day is it tomorrow. 

"Akechi," Akira, who has been quiet this entire time, pipes up. "May we come in?"

"Y-Yes. Sure. Just let me—" he opens the door wider and steps aside, allowing his guests to come inside. He tries to force down the sudden wave of insecurity blooming inside him as they take a look around—his new apartment is tiny and cramped, with water-stained walls and floor that creaks under strain, but its owner accepts payment in cash and doesn't ask questions and he doesn't have a lot of options now, does he?

He leads them to the dining room, which is also the living room and half of the kitchen, and watches mutely as Haru takes out an extravagantly decorated cake out of a box he recognizes belonging to a luxury bakery. The others are taking paper plates and plastic cups out of shopping bags and pining decorations on the wall, and it's all too much, _too much._

"Akechi."

Akechi flinches at the mention of his name, eyes focusing to see Akira standing in front of him with plastic cups and two big bottles of soda. "Mind helping me with these?"

He nods, more out of reflex than anything else, and guides Akira to the kitchen. He's silent as they pop open each bottle and start filling the cups.

"You don't look happy."

Akechi's hands jerk. Some of the soda spills out of the cup, and he busies himself with a cleaning rag before he finally finds his voice.

"I'm not unhappy, I—"Akira is quiet as he waits for Akechi to continue. "I'm not really into celebrating my birthday, I guess. And the last time I celebrated it was a long, long time ago so this is—a surprise. It's not a bad surprise, it's just..."

Akira frowns at that, brows knitted together like he's thinking about something. "And when was that?"

There's something about Akira, Akechi thinks, that makes him want to slice himself open and let all his secrets spill out, all the dark and ugly parts of him that he keeps under wraps for so long they fester like an untreated wound. In a way, he already has.

"Before my mother—" Akechi takes a long, shuddering breath. "Around that time, I think. It's not like there's a budget for birthday parties in the foster system, isn't there."

He's not bitter about it, has stopped feeling bitter about it for years now.

"My point is, it doesn't matter. My birthday doesn't matter. I appreciate what you're doing but you, of all people, should know that I'm the last person on earth who deserves this."

He isn't looking at Akira.

"Akechi."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Akechi."

" _What_?"

"Akechi," Akira repeats, his voice like summer. He's inching closer and closer until it's impossible not to look at him. "I don't know a lot about your past, and what I _do_ know isn't pleasant. I can't predict what's going to happen in the future either, but—"

"But I know there are people in the other room, _now_ , who spent hours waiting in line to buy a cake they think you'll like, people who stayed out past their curfew and paid ridiculous taxi fare to celebrate your birthday with you. Isn't that enough?" Akira _looks_ at him, and Akechi thinks it's unfair, how eyes that dark could look this bright. 

"Would you allow us to celebrate your birthday, for now?"

Akechi closes his eyes, trying to quiet the part of his brain that screams _no no no you don't deserve this you don't deserve them you don't deserve_ **_him_** _._ When he opens his eyes again, Akira is smiling gently at him, waiting.

"Okay," he says at last. "Okay."

Akira's smile widens; he holds out his free hand for Akechi to take. "Shall we?"

 

* * *

 

In the time that he and Akira were gone, the rest of the Phantom Thieves have managed to pin colorful streamers and balloons on the wall of his dining room, along with a clearly hand-painted banner with a birthday message written on it. There are gifts too, piled messily on the table, some more neatly wrapped than the others.

"Finally!" Ryuji exclaims when they show up. Makoto takes the cups from his hand while Haru, giggling, is putting a garish birthday hat on him. Morgana not-so gently nudges his feet, ushering him to sit in front of the cake. It looks even more luxurious from up close, garnished with strawberries and elaborate swirls of white chocolate. The bakery has even included a crow-shaped chocolate as a decoration, its delicate talons resting on the frosting.

"It's a strawberry shortcake!" Ann explains to him. "Strawberries are still in season and this bakery is really, really famous for its shortcakes so I went ahead and ordered this one. You're not allergic to strawberries or anything, right?"

There's a lump in his throat, making it difficult to talk. "I'm not," he says at last; Ann beams.

Akira is standing by his side, one hand resting on his shoulder. He's warm, smelling of ground coffee and dust, and Akechi might have leaned on him, a little bit. If Akira notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Should we start now?"

It's a bizarre sight, he supposes—the Phantom Thieves, singing their old enemy an off-key happy birthday in the latter's cramped apartment like they're—

 _Friends_ , Akechi realizes dimly, and even the thought of that makes emotions bubble inside him.

They finish the song with an exaggerated _happy birthday to yooouuu_ that makes Futaba giggles and even Makoto cracks a smile. Akira lights up the candles, then. "Do you know what you're going to wish for?"

Akechi hasn't thought about birthday wishes for so long now he thinks he's forgotten if he has any birthday wish at all, but he looks around the room and sees smiling faces of those who care about him for the first time in his life after a very, very long time. He looks around the room and sees Akira, with his eyes soft behind his glasses and mouth curved into a relaxed smile. He looks around the room, and thinks of the word _forever._

"I do."

He blows the candles, and make a wish.

**Author's Note:**

> this ended up less fluffy and with less shuake than i thought it would, but eh. comments are appreciated! i have a lot of feelings about akechi i cry everyday


End file.
